Wild Fire (Chaos #6.5)(58)

She nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

“I couldn’t say anything. Talk about a switch. The decision had been made. But he’s my little brother. He barely remembers him. I do. I have that. He doesn’t. I feel that for him because Dad was such a Dad. I remember he’d make us peanut butter and chocolate chip pancakes every Sunday. I remember how long his legs seemed, like they went on for miles, when he lay in bed beside me, reading me a book before I went to sleep. I remember how he’d stare at Ma’s legs when she walked around the kitchen in shorts with this smile on his mouth I didn’t get, because I was a little kid, but it made me feel safe and it made me know how much he loved her. I have all that. Jag doesn’t. And I feel that. I feel it. So I couldn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, honey,” she said softly. “I totally get that.”

“It’s weird, a five-year-old remembering all that.”

“Very fortunately, not many five-year-olds lose their dad at that age. But grief seals memories hermetically, I suspect, even for five-year-olds.”

Dutch didn’t suspect shit.

He knew she was right.

“She talked about him to you?” he asked.

Her expression grew concerned. “She doesn’t with you?”

“We avoid it. Losing him broke her. Bad.”

“You need to talk to her about him, honey. You need it. And she needs to give him to you.”

“Yeah,” he muttered.

She smiled, small and sweet, pushed up to kiss him under his jaw, then she whispered, “I’ll order Chinese. What do you like?”

“Sesame chicken. Orange chicken. Kung pao chicken. Cashew chicken.”

“So something chicken.”

“And egg rolls and pot stickers. Fried, not steamed.”

She smiled again and then…

Fuck…

She kissed his Chaos patch where the scratch was.

Then she turned and walked out, scooping up Murtagh along the way.

He wasn’t thinking clearly, but still, he could swear that cat was looking over her shoulder at Dutch, his eyes screaming, “You! Come get me!”

So he was sorta smiling when he shrugged off his cut.

But he wasn’t smiling when he ran the pad of his thumb over that scratch.

Now, in his way, he had them both too.

“Hope I did you proud today, Dad,” he whispered.

Then he cleared his throat.

Turned.

And shouted into the living room. “If you pay for that on your credit card, no sex tomorrow night either!”

To which he got, “Dutch!”

So he entered his living room grinning.





Chapter Twelve



Cerebral and Long-Lasting



Dutch



Dutch did a double take when Georgie walked into his kitchen the next morning.

And that wasn’t about the fact he left her in his bed and told her to keep her ass there, he was going to bring the coffee.

It was about the fact she was wearing glasses.

“You wear glasses?” he asked.

“Normally, I wear contacts.” She fit herself front-to-front to his frame, arms curved around his waist, looked up at him and murmured, “We’re having a lazy day so I’m not going to bother with them until you take me out to wine and dine me tonight, even though I’m oh-so-totally a sure thing.”

He grinned down at her and slid a hand along her jaw into her hair.

“You’re supposed to stay in bed,” he reminded her.

“You were taking too long.”

“Babe, I’m about to fill the cups. You had to wait two more minutes.”

“Okay then, you don’t want to know why I came out.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Georgie.”

“Dutch.”

They went into staredown.

His woman talked so he knew he’d win.

And he did.

“It’s gushy, but,” she pushed closer, “you were too far away.”

He buried his hand in the back of her hair, the curls wrapping around his fingers like they were holding him there, and he dropped his face close to hers.

And then he said, “You are so fuckin’ into me.”

She rolled her eyes and replied, “Duh.”

He bent further and kissed her.

When he broke it, he said, “You look cute in glasses.”

“I have it on good authority I’m cute a lot of the time.”

“Yeah? Whose authority is that?”

“He’s a badass biker. You don’t want to cross him.”

Dutch was chuckling at the same time totally not caring if his caffeine fix came ten days from then, he liked Georgie in his kitchen, being cute, almost more than he liked her fifteen minutes ago, on her back, letting him eat her out.

Regrettably, on this thought, there was a knock on the door.

Georgie grabbed onto his biceps, crying, “Quick! Hide!”

“Babe,” he replied, that word shaking because he was laughing.

He let her go.

She sighed.

He headed to the door.

Murtagh followed him.

He opened it to Carolyn.